Hot
by Tresa Cho
Summary: One night, at the top of the tower, two will rediscover each other in ways neither thought was possible.
1. Lost

Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter, obviously, because I am not filthy rich. Ahh, if I was though…

It was unbearably hot. Even on top of the covers he was sweating, the cooling liquid dripping down his bare back in tiny rivulets. He sat up, pushing a hand through his damp, white-blonde hair. It was too hot. He had to get out of here, he could barely breathe.

He slithered out of bed, careful not to shake the mattress hard. The black head that slept beside him shifted and moaned in sleep. Strands of feathery hair fluttered in her face, making her look almost innocent. The knowledge that she was unclothed beneath the covers took away that innocence. He placed his feet on the icy stone of the floor, eliciting shivers from his tired body. Loose sleeping pants slid up, as he grabbed a shirt and quietly left the girl's dormitory.

Unlike other houses, the Slytherin dormitories were not booby-trapped. Salazar Slytherin must have realized that what would happen would happen, whether the boys could get into the girls' rooms or not. The other founders evidently thought that a set of trick staircases could stop lust. Nobody ever said the founders were smart.

It was a long trek from the Slytherin dungeons to the tallest Hogwarts tower. Any other student would have balked at the prospect of wandering the halls after-hours. He wasn't just any student. He was Draco Malfoy. He didn't shirk from anything, least of all Mr. Filch's damn cat.

When he finally did reach the tower, he stood for a moment looking up. The roof was round and flat, with nothing save a small raised stone ledge to separate the student from a five-story drop. Tossing his shirt at the doorway, Draco walked to the edge of the tower and stepped up onto the rim, tottering there. Steely eyes took in the height, and the dark ground below.

Five stories ought to do the trick.

Five stories weren't that far. If the fall didn't kill him, he knew for a fact that the entire castle was asleep. Nobody would reach him in time to heal him.

"Malfoy?"

Crap. Did he say the entire castle?

He turned, to see a figure with tousled black hair peer at him in confusion. The lightning-shaped scar was all too familiar, telling Draco who disturbed his silence. "What do you want, Potter?"

"What are you doing?" the other's voice was laced with weariness as he rubbed his eyes tiredly, his nose conspicuously lacking a certain eye apparel.

"I'm testing my balance," Draco snapped, "Get out of here."

"Couldn't you do it on a safer tower?" Potter inquired. He walked over, not noticing Draco inch away. Brilliant green eyes calculated the height, and he cringed, stepping back. "You could fall the wrong way."

"Don't you think I know that?" Draco growled, "Why don't you go prance back to your common room?"

"You couldn't have possibly been thinking about jumping, could you?" the look on his face was smug, as if he enjoyed catching Draco so utterly unawares.

"What does it matter to you, you Gryffindor prat?" Draco hissed.

Potter shrugged, his thin frame pulling the fabric of his pajamas. The last few years had not been good to him. Granted, he'd always been scrawny, but he gave new meaning to the word cadaverous. "If it's all the same to you," he pummeled Draco with those eyes, "Go ahead."

The Slytherin narrowed his eyes. Was the magnificent Harry Potter daring someone to take their own life!? Setting aside the fact that Potter hated his very existence, daring a Malfoy!? Draco looked at the ground five stories below. Just one step. That's all it would take. But… Potter would see his weakest moment. For seven years of school, he, Draco Malfoy, had held the upper hand. If he jumped now, with Potter watching, he would have lost. Scowling like Voldemort, he whirled on Potter, "Happy?"

The brunette said nothing. He merely stared at Draco.

"What?" the white-blonde spat, still keeping his precarious stance atop the rim.

"Why?" Potter demanded, "You have everything. Every girl in the school wants to be with you. Nearly every girl has been with you! Your family is rich. You have a family. You don't need to fear Voldemort because you're pure-blood. Your grades rival Hermione's. You've managed your yearly quota of our torment in a matter of two weeks. Why jump?"

"You bumbling idiot," Draco hissed, "Will you ever learn to shut up?" His eyes flashed dangerously in the darkness, "Why should I explain myself to you?"

Potter lifted his shoulders again, "Just curious."

"What are you doing up here anyway?" Draco shot.

"Couldn't sleep," came the curt reply. "Would you mind coming down if you're not going to say anything?"

Draco nearly laughed. He would have too, if he hadn't been so suddenly unsure of his balance. "What is it, Potter, scared I might fall? Scared they might accuse you of murder?" the sneer covered the wave of vertigo.

"No."

"Well, then, what is it? You couldn't possibly care for me. That's very charming but I'm not into guys and I'm sure Hermione would have a slight problem with us."

"Shut up Malfoy."

"What are you going to do, push me?" Draco cackled, "Go ahead. I won't mind."

"Why are you so intent to die!?" Potter yelled, his voice carrying over the fields below them and shocking Draco into silence.

"You wouldn't understand," the Slytherin grit his teeth hard.

"I don't care," Potter lowered his eyebrows, "Nobody should die. Not even scum like you."

"You warm my heart with your compliments," Draco grinned maliciously.

Potter stepped closer, within an arm's reach, "I mean it."

"Don't get too close," Draco breathed, lowering his voice, "I might fall." The Boy Who Lived didn't move. Instead, he glared. Glared with those haunting green eyes. Eyes that had seen death. Eyes that had seen wizards in the worst pain imaginable. Those eyes nearly made Draco lose his balance.

"You don't deserve to die."

"Spare the empathy," Draco murmured, "This Death Eater doesn't need it."

If it affected Potter any, the kid did a good job of hiding it. He barely flinched upon hearing the words, and did not step back. "What…?" as if he didn't believe it.

"You heard me," if there was one thing he hated, it was repeating himself. He looked out over the grounds again, turning his back to the Gryffindor.

"Since when?"

"Since my seventeenth birthday," Draco found himself releasing more information than he had intended. Petty school brawls looked so trivial when one was about to die. "The mark was put in a special place," he pointed to a patch of skin at his right hip where half a scull glared at them from pale skin, "Not as visible as my arm."

"You still don't deserve to die," Potter's voice shook with effort, as if he was trying to hold back something. Anger possibly. Maybe laughter. Draco turned his lips down and started shifting positions again, turning to face Potter. That was when he lost his footing.

A/N- If you don't like slash, it may be better if you don't read on.


	2. Found

His toe had caught stone, but his heel missed, forcing him out into open air. For one glorious moment, he was in sky, with nothing between him and the air. Cold breeze whipped across his bare back, and he would have flung out his arms if not for another. A hand not his own, a third hand, gripped his elbow in a tight, painful grasp. The hand yanked hard, as another arm snaked around his waist. Combined, they were strong enough to reverse his direction.

He now fell forward, back onto the tower, away from the five stories of absolute bliss. His momentum brought him crashing into another body, pressing the other against the stone floor of the tower. His wildly beating heart pushed hot blood through his entire body, reliving the rush he had felt as he had realized he was falling. Only when his breath had stilled did he realize exactly whose body he was on top of.

The Gryffindor was trembling violently, his hands resting on each of Draco's arms. "Potter?" Draco panted, propping himself up on his elbows, "What the hell did you do?"

Seemingly stunned, the Gryffindor could not reply. He merely shook his head, and settled it to the side where he didn't have to look at Draco. His chest shuddered, with a sharp intake of breath. Draco looked at him curiously, "Potter? What the hell is it?"

"P-Please…" Draco's eyes widened at the shake in his voice, "Please… Not another… Not another one!" A drop of water slipped from Potter's closed eyes, streaking down his cheek in a glittering trail that was easily visible, even in the darkness. Harry Potter was crying.

"Potter… what the fuck?" Draco gasped, fidgeting nervously. "Why are you crying?"

Potter glared at him finally, tears freely spilling from his sparking eyes, "Nobody deserves to die. Nobody!"

He shook hard, with suppressed sobs and fear. He didn't want to see any more death. He was nearly broken, after Cedric. The death of another classmate before his eyes would have crushed him.

Not knowing what else to do, Draco comforted him the only way he knew how. He leaned down and ran his tongue along Potter's cheek, tasting the bitter salt of anguish. Potter's hands tightened at his arms, and his body lurched under the blonde. "Shh," Draco murmured, kissing away the rest of Potter's tears, "You're okay. Stop crying."

What a wonder. All through his seven years of school, he had tried to make Harry Potter, everyone's favorite, cry. And now, as they neared the midpoint of their seventh year, he had succeeded somewhat accidentally. Who would have known that Draco's life would make Harry Potter, the wizard who had defeated Voldemort as a child, cry.

He planted a soft kiss on each of the wet eyelids, and one on the forehead. Unconsciously, his body went to action. His fingers laced themselves into a mess of soft black hair, adjusting to a body that did not want it rough. His eyes closed, as his lips moved to capture the other's. He knew just how to breathe, to keep him from getting dizzy, and when he came up for air, he noticed the smell. The incredible smell of pure spring air mixed with cinnamon. Nobody in the entire school had this scent.

"Draco…"

Draco froze at the casual use of his first name. Okay, he was kissing Potter, but that didn't give him the right to use first names. "Potter," he acknowledged coldly, reminding the Gryffindor that he was on the bottom.

"Draco," the brunette persisted, "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Draco barked, exasperated with Potter's stupidity.

"It looks like you're kissing me," the other said, point blank, "You're straight."

"It's not my fault you move and feel like a woman," Draco growled. Even in the dark, he could see the angry blush crossing Potter's cheeks. The Slytherin grinned. "What does it matter to you if I'm straight? After tonight, it goes back to how it used to be. It's just my pet peeve to hate seeing people cry. I'd rather they scream in pain and die, instead of cry and beg for mercy, if you know what I mean. I wouldn't make a good Dark Lord at all."

At the mention of tomorrow, Potter grasped his arms tighter. "No," he pouted, twisting his lips into a childish frown.

"What do you mean, 'no'? I suppose I should be grateful that you saved me, but I don't intend to make a habit of this."

"Then tomorrow night, change it around. I'll be on top."

Draco sat up so fast he fell over backwards. Potter propped himself on his elbows, staring in confusion at the other. "Are you out of your bloody mind!?" Draco nearly yelled.

"I wouldn't be talking," Potter spat, "I'm not the one who came up here to jump." The words stung, faintly but surely. Potter had seen his moment of greatest weakness, and he was going to use it against him. Draco did not move as the other crept up, sitting in the space between Draco's sprawled legs. The white-blonde allowed Potter's mouth to find his, closing his eyes in resignment. He was already in too deep. Potter had made the mistake of crying for him, and nobody had ever done that for him, ever. Not his mother, not his father, not his friends, his many lovers. Naught but this one Gryffindor.

And, whether he would admit it or not, Draco had fallen in love with his smell.

Perhaps Harry wasn't so bad, he thought as he found himself easing the shirt off the brunette's lithe frame.

**A/N**- That's it, thanks everyone!


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